


One More for the Trauma Vault

by De Orakle (Delphi)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alien Sex, Crack, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-06-02
Updated: 1999-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/De%20Orakle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a Jar-Jar slash challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More for the Trauma Vault

Qui-Gon shifted uncomfortably on the hard dirt floor in the kitchen of the small slave's quarters where he and his padawan were staying for the night. While young Anakin's mother had insisted that he share her bed, the snoring that rivalled a Tungarian mastodon's had quickly driven him out to seek quieter sleeping arrangements.

He had finally begun to drift into a more relaxed state, flirting with the edges of sleep, when a soft scuffle caught his ears. It was pitch black in the room, but by the general disruption the stranger caused in the Force, Qui-Gon could tell it was his padawan, even in his semi-conscious state.

"Come help me sleep. I haven't been able to get you off of my mind since we landed," he whispered softly, and smiled slightly to himself when his apprentice knelt down beside him. It had been far too long.

A few rustling blankets and unfastened sleep-clothes later, Qui-Gon was sprawled back, nearly biting his lip off to keep quiet as he enjoyed the best blowjob he had ever experienced in his life. Obi-Wan must have been as desperate and lonely as his master after their forced bout of celibacy, for he was truly inspired tonight. His mouth seemed hotter, and that tongue...

Despite his ecstasy, a tiny, worrying whisper began to creep into Qui-Gon's mind. The kind that usually warned him of rather important things, like when that high priest was going to draw a blaster, or when Yoda had consumed too much brandy and was currently stalking the halls of the temple giggling and looking for "a few good men." Why this reflex, this warning of impending doom would be kicking in now was beyond him. Unless, someone was watching them.

In his less-than-coherent state, Qui-Gon tried to feel the surrounding Force for any hidden voyeur, but the things that boy was doing with his tongue had completely fried his synapses.

Still swimming in that rushing river of pleasure, but at least with his head above water now, Qui-Gon reached down to still his apprentice for a moment. The practical side of him urging that it wouldn't hurt to make sure that no one was spying on them while the hedonist in him called him unspeakable names in eight different languages.

His mind was still piecing itself back together when he finally figured out what was wrong with what his hands were trying to tell him. Instead of soft, spiky hair, he was feeling thick, leathery skin. Instead of delicate, shell-like ears, he was holding two long, heavy...

A wet, squirming tongue suddenly wrapped itself around his wrist.

All Jedi training shot to hell, Qui-Gon's shrill girly-scream echoed through the entire house and into the night.


End file.
